


The L Word

by fauxpocky (alisso)



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Drinking, Episode: s02e22 Forever, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Television Watching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-24
Updated: 2006-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-28 11:19:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/991429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alisso/pseuds/fauxpocky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An evening of normal male bonding...right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The L Word

Two thirds of the way through the bottle of scotch and an hour and a half into the L Word marathon, Wilson found himself wondering if there was a subtle way to shift in your seat to hide a slowly growing erection. He'd mocked House's suggestion of watching this, he certainly couldn't let on that it was getting him hot.

He tried to observe House out of the corner of his eye, to see if he was absorbed enough in the show to not notice him shifting. He certainly wasn't checking to see if House was reacting as well.

But while House did seem quite caught up in the on screen antics, it didn't matter, Wilson knew better than to think House wouldn't notice something like that. Besides, he realised, the thought drifting through the alcoholic fog like an iceberg, they were sitting close enough together that their legs were touching. Even if House were blind and deaf, he'd notice Wilson moving, particularly if he was fidgeting.

Another sideways glance. House was still staring fixedly at the screen. But he didn't seem to be focussing on it...

"I gather you've come around to my way of thinking on the subject of The L Word?"

"What?" Bemused, Wilson turned to look at House, who was still glued to the screen, but was now smirking slightly.

"Or are you just happy to see me?"

It clicked, and Wilson blushed. Not that he'd thought he'd get away with it. But it was still embarrassing, getting sprung getting hard over some soft core lesbian action. Especially by House, who, he knew, was never going to let him live it down.

He decided he needed another drink, and topped up House's glass as well without thinking, operating on polite autopilot. House, operating on drunken autopilot, threw back the nip of scotch in one gulp. Wilson sipped his more slowly, wondering how long he could avoid responding to House's teasing by hiding behind his glass.

House was still smirking, though he hadn't said anything else, and he didn't seem to be waiting for a response. The reprieve would only be temporary, of course, Wilson knew that, but for the moment, he relaxed a little.

Big mistake.

Seven eighths of the way through the scotch and two hours into the marathon, House put his hand on Wilson's knee.

He stared stupidly at it for a moment before looking up at House with what he hoped was a questioning expression but figured probably just looked confused. House was still watching the show with that same small smirk tugging at his lips.

Wilson's face went from confused to incredulous as the hand on his knee slid higher, and as it came within an inch of brushing against his now more rapidly growing erection, he felt it necessary to make some sort of protest. House must be really drunk. Whatever he was up to, he didn't mean it and would probably regret it sober.

"You right there?" As he spoke, House's hand reached what had clearly been its destination all along, pressing firmly against the bulge in his trousers and making his voice climb an octave on the word 'there'. "House!"

"Watch the show." House's voice was as calm and light as if he were discussing something completely ordinary, not ordering his best friend to watch lesbian porn while his hand got intimately acquainted with said best friend's anatomy.

"House!" Wilson squirmed, wondering why he was protesting and not just standing up and bolting. Except that, he was drunk. And watching porn. And it felt _good_.

"Just watch, there's a good bit coming up."

The suspicious part of Wilson's brain, the bit that agreed with House's assertion that everybody lies, wondered about the fact that House seemed to have already watched this, but, what with one thing and another, it wasn't till two days later that Wilson worked out the significance of that.

For the moment he was a bit distracted, and further protests died in his throat as House started stroking him through his trousers.

This was too weird. He stared at the tv, realising that House was right, this was a good bit. As the two women on screen kissed, slowly removing each others' clothes, he watched, rapt, not quite thinking about _who_ owned the hand that had started to undo the button on his pants. The sound of the zip seemed abnormally loud, but then there was only thin cotton between the hand and his cock and he decided he didn't care if it was House dong this. A handjob's a handjob, when all's said and done, what should it matter where it came from?

Besides, they were drunk.

It certainly couldn't be worse than the one time Julie had tried and had practically given his cock a chinese burn.

In fact, it was already shaping up to be one of the better handjobs he'd received over the years. He was trying to stay focussed on the show, but it wasn't easy, and his eyes kept fluttering closed whenever House managed just the right combination of pressure and friction.

He felt House shifting slightly beside him and he looked down and realised he wasn't the only one reacting. This was a new situation for him, and he wasn't sure of the etiquette in a moment like this, but he felt certain reciprocation was good manners. It would only be fair.

So he ran uncertain fingers along Greg's inner thigh, half expecting to have his hand slapped away, but he met no resistance. The angle was odd, but otherwise the actions were familiar - for some time now his right hand had been more interested in him than anyone else was. Julie had been, elsewhere, and Grace was, well, chemo wasn't great for the libido. So it wasn't all that strange to slip his hand into y-fronts and start stroking. The only novelty was that it was someone else's y-fronts now.

House was never one to let anyone get one up on him, and a few moments later he'd worked his hand under cotton too. Wilson gave up on trying to watch the show - the good bit was over, anyway, they were just talking now - and concentrated instead on what they were doing.

Even as he bit his tongue to hold back a gasp, he marvelled at House's competitive nature. He'd upped the ante by returning the favour, so now House was pushing to step things up even more. It was only due to his years of practice that Wilson managed to keep up the rhythm of stroking as Greg's long fingers did indecent things to him, making his hips buck involuntarily off the couch and his toes curl in his sensible shoes.

Definitely one of the best handjobs he'd had in years. But he wasn't going to tell House that.

He was close now, and he snuck a peek at House, wondering if he was still watching tv or if he'd turned his observant gaze on _him_ now. What he saw almost made him choke on his tongue as he came with a muffled grunt. The sight of Greg's face contorted with ecstasy would come back to him at highly inappropriate moments for a long time afterwards.

A few more strokes and House was coming too, with a similarly stifled sound. They sat, panting quietly, hands in their own laps again, for a few moments, refocusing on reality.

Wilson turned to look at House, who had gone back to watching the flickering screen again. He stared until finally House turned to face him, eyebrows cocked inquisitively.

"Yes?"

Wilson licked his lips, awkward, nervous.

"Thanks," he murmured, and leant forward to press his lips to his friend's.

House didn't really respond, but he didn't resist either, his mouth opening to Wilson's heated kiss. His body went lax, the usual tension draining away as he yielded to the touch of Wilson’s hands and lips.

As they broke apart, though, he was frowning, and Wilson wondered if he'd gone too far.

"Why did you have to go and do that?" For all his words were complaining, the tone of his voice, throaty and raw, said otherwise. "We were having a perfectly normal evening of male bonding - alcohol, lesbians and jacking off - and you had to go and kiss me."

"What's wrong with that? And in what universe is any of this considered 'normal male bonding'?"

House looked awkward now.

"A handjob's just, a handjob, doesn't have to mean anything between two drunk friends watching porn, but kisses are," he paused, almost squirming, "intimate. Personal. They, mean something." A thought seemed to strike him and he regained a little composure, even in the face of Wilson's growing, almost gloating grin. "That's why hookers don't do it."

"What's this? Greg House showing evidence of sentimentality?"

"Stop that, smugness is only attractive on _me_."

"Oh no, I'm not giving this up, you _care_ about something, you think something sentimental is important, you," he paused, realisation striking, "you _like_ me...I..."

Wilson had to break off as House kissed him, and this time there was nothing passive or yielding about it. So he didn't get to finish tormenting House over his admission and his newfound realisation, but he planned to get around to it later. For now, though, he was prepared to let Greg divert him from that topic. Provided he kept using this as his method of diversion, of course.


End file.
